Afloat on the Flood | Page 9

lot of things," replied the other; "and among
them is the fact that some unknown man has been using the swamp for
a hiding-place of late."
"P'raps we'll learn a heap more about it after we stwike the farm we're
heading for," suggested Ted.
"And there, if you look now you can see the house among those trees,
with smoke coming out of the chimney at the kitchen end," said Elmer,
pointing ahead.
Lil Artha deliberately took chances by removing one hand from the
lines, and vigorously rubbing his stomach with it.
"Oh! I know something of what bully suppers farmers' wives c'n serve
up," he hastened to say, throwing all the longing he could into looks
and words; "and here's hoping we get an invite to stay over there till
morning. If they are very pressing, Elmer, I entreat you not to hurry us
off. Things can wait that long, and we don't expect to do much in the
night-time, you remember."
The patrol leader made no rash promises. He simply smiled, and started
to talk of other subjects; so poor Lil Artha, who did feel so empty after
such a little lunch by the wayside, was left in suspense.
"What's this farmer's name?" asked Toby.
"Trotter," replied Elmer. "You know Johnny Spreen is really a bound
boy, and he has to work for the farmer until he gets a certain age, when

he is supposed to be given a sum of money, and be his own boss. That's
the law."
"Well, all I hope is that we pick up some decent clue around here," said
Lil Artha; "Yes, and a bully supper in the bargain, that'll fill a horrible
vacuum, and put us all in fighting condition."
Their arrival created something of a sensation. Dogs began to bark,
roosters to crow, cows to moo, and even a donkey started to bray in a
fearful fashion. Immediately Johnny Spreen, the boy who trapped
muskrats in the winter, came running out from the big barn where he
was probably milking some of the cows, for he held a three-legged
stool in one hand as though it might be a weapon of defense.
The farmer, a long, lanky individual with a keen face, also bobbed in
sight, holding a currycomb; while at the kitchen door could be seen the
buxom figure of his wife, evidently bound to learn what was happening
even if her dinner did burn in consequence.
Three tow-headed, wild-eyed little Trotters, who had been playing at
teeter with a plank laid over a carpenter's "horse" for a seesaw, ranged
themselves all in a row, and gaped their fill at the strange spectacle of a
wagonload of boys all dressed pretty much alike.
"Are you Mr. Trotter?" asked Elmer, as he jumped down, and the other
came forward toward him.
"That's my name, son; what fetches the hull lot of you up this way?
Ameanin' to camp on the lake-shore, it might be? I've heard about the
scouts daown at Hickory Ridge; Johnny yonder's been apinin' to jine
'em this long time back, but, of course, it ain't to be thunk of, with him
so far away."
"Yes, we are the members of the Wolf Patrol, Mr. Trotter," said Elmer,
who wanted to make a good friend of the farmer in the start. "I'm Elmer
Chenowith; perhaps you know my father, or some of the other fellows'
parents."

He thereupon introduced each one of the boys by name, and even
mentioned the fact that the father of this one or that occupied a
prominent place in the business or professional world of Hickory Ridge
town.
"We haven't exactly come up here to camp out this trip, Mr. Trotter,"
continued the patrol leader, after bowing to the farmer's wife who had
first darted indoors to see that her supper was not burning, and then
hurried to join them.
Elmer knew that the truth might just as well come out in the beginning
as later. On this account he did not intend to hold anything back, but be
perfectly frank with the owner of the lake farm.
"What might be your object then, son?" asked the tiller of the soil,
possibly feeling a bit of natural curiosity in the matter.
"Ask him first of all, won't you Elmer," pleaded Lil Artha, as though he
feared lest this important matter be lost sight of in the confusion of
affairs; "whether he c'n spare us some eggs, and a few broilers to take
into the old swamp with us?"
"I guess ma c'n let you have what you want along them lines," replied
Mr. Trotter, "though seems like somebody's been amakin' free with her
layin' hens lately. They keep disappearin' right along. Sometimes I
think it's a mink that's gettin' 'em, but they ain't any